


All I want to do is touch your skin

by felixfvlicis



Series: hp_may_madness [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Pining Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 15:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felixfvlicis/pseuds/felixfvlicis
Summary: In which Harry is pining …again, and it’s annoying the hell out of Draco, or is it?





	All I want to do is touch your skin

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. 
> 
> This fic is part of a larger work for the [hp_may_madness](http://hp-may-madness.livejournal.com/) challenge over at LiveJournal. 
> 
> Click [HERE](http://hp-may-madness.livejournal.com/tag/author%3A%20felixfvlicis) to read more slash pairings. 
> 
> Updated daily during the month of May.
> 
> ♥

Harry sips his firewhisky laboriously, eyes flitting to the windowpanes every so often, hypnotized by the glowing street lamps that mock the deep, dark circles just above his cheekbones.  It’s his third night at the bar this week.

 

Draco’s laugh, deep and warm, pulls him from his hypnotic state.  The empty glass vibrates against Harry’s fingers, the sharp lip begging to make his flesh bleed.  He cuts his eyes at Blaise, leaning behind the bar with an air of nonchalance, though a seductive smirk is plastered across his lips.  Bastard.  The back of Draco’s neck turns a delicious shade of red.  Harry swallows thickly, fighting to keep still.

 

Though his mind is no longer held captive by Voldemort, Draco’s quietly assumed the vacant position, unbeknownst to him.  Harry’s secrets, desires, and fears are etched into Draco’s pale face, settled and content in his sharp cheekbones, define jaw and pale lips.  His voice rough with desire each time Harry attempts to push him away.  Though each time Harry reaches for him in the dark, in a moment of desperate longing, he vanishes.  It’s maddening.  To combat his impending madness (or, as Hermione has aptly named it -- doom), he’s taken up drinking.  Firewhisky understands his need to savor the burn as the transparent liquid slides down his throat.  It’s willing and able to make that sacrifice, and it’s one that Harry appreciates.  One that he can always count on.

 

He licks his lips once more, feeling his cheeks flush and shivers at the tiny beads of sweat that latch onto his shoulders.  He pushes back the wooden chair with more force than necessary.  Draco doesn’t even flinch, his gaze still locked on Blaise’s strong dark figure.

 

Harry shoves his hands into his pockets and sighs so deeply that a strand of hair lifts itself from his forehead, nearly slick with sweat.  He stands an inch from Draco’s back, stupefied by his warm, citrusy scent.

 

“Honestly, Harry,” Draco murmurs, “I wish you’d cease your hovering.  I don’t bite.  Hard, anyway.”

 

Harry _feels_ Draco’s smirk seeping into his skin, sucking the blood eagerly from his veins before shooting southward.  He shifts his weight from side-to-side, clearing his throat before stepping forward and sliding (as gracefully as one can after two shots of firewhisky) onto the stool beside Draco, their fabric-covered knees brushing up against each other.

 

“I wish you would,” Harry whispers, more to himself than to Draco.

 

“Wish I would what?”

 

Harry stills.  Bloody hell, he said that out loud.  

 

“What?  I mean … er, nothing, Draco.”

 

Draco rolls his eyes, though a knowing smile plays at his lips.  Despite feeling rather warm, Draco’s expression sends a chill down Harry’s spine.

 

“Never thought I’d see you frequent this place -- oh, _Chosen One_.”

 

Harry sighs.  “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

 

“Oh?” Draco asks, his eyes alight with mischief.  “What should I call you, then?”

 

“Just Harry.”

 

“Well, _just Harry_ , the night is young.”

 

“Too long,” Harry mumbles, nodding.

 

Draco raises an eyebrow before his tongue darts out, sweeping over his top lip, never tearing his eyes from Harry’s face.

 

“If you want something,” he whispers, leaning into Harry’s strong, war-ridden frame.  “You need only ask.”

 

Harry swallows, torn between meeting Draco halfway, tracing his fingers over his bottom lip, and jerking away abruptly, head hanging heavily as he walks toward the exit.

 

“I -- I can’t ask, Draco.”

 

“Mmmmm, you can’t?  Or you won’t?”

 

“Both,” Harry whimpers, covering his face with his palm.

 

Harry’s mortified.  He feels the moment regret clings to the nape of his neck, starved for blood.

 

The clink of coins against the wooden bartop shakes him out of his daze.

 

“Up you get.  We’re leaving.”  Draco’s tone is clipped, concise.  

 

Harry can’t move.  … Until Draco wraps a thin, steady hand around his forearm and pulls him toward the door.

 

“What the hell, Draco?”

 

“I told you, Harry,” he drawls, “we’re leaving.”

 

“But --”

 

“Shut it.  You’re going to tell me what you want.  Right now.  I know you.  You’re only this … _persistent_ when you want something.”

 

Harry tries to pull away, but Draco’s grip is unrelenting, almost possessive.  Harry’s cheeks flush once more, and Draco steps back.

 

“Out with it.”

 

Harry sighs, fixing his gaze on the cobblestone beneath their feet.

 

“I wish I held your attention like Blaise manages to,” he mumbles, toeing at the bits of gravel buried between the cracks.

 

A moment of silence passes between them, and then Draco is laughing, just like the young, self-righteous, third-year prat, though his voice is deeper, thick like honey.

 

Harry’s head snaps up and Draco releases his hold on Harry’s arm.

 

“Oh, Harry,”  Draco tsk’s, playfully.  “Blaise?  Honestly?  You’ve no clue he’s absolutely mad for Ginny, do you?”

 

“W-What?”  

 

“I said,” Draco sighs, settling himself into Harry’s space once more.  “Blaise is mad for Ginny.  As in, he’s straight as an arrow.  Now, anyway.  I suppose I ruined it for him.”

 

“Y-you?”

 

“Do pay attention.  You’re maddening, do you know that?”

 

“Sorry.  But then --”

 

“But what, Harry?”

 

Harry feels firewhisky’s jolt of courage surge through his veins and he knows.  It’s now or never.  

 

“I want you.  I mean, I have, for a while, for a long time, too long, actually -- but -- I always thought … you wanted someone else.”

 

“Eloquent as ever, I see.” Draco murmurs, though Harry sees the warm smile creep onto his lips.

 

“Mmmm, that’s me.”

 

A spark passes between them, its embers dying out before it disintegrates into the ground beneath their feet.

  
Harry tenses as Draco’s fingers trace his cheekbones, and suddenly, he’s leaning in, and Harry opens himself up, lays himself bare as if he was always meant to.


End file.
